


We Didn't Start The Fire

by justanothernerdgirl



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Fluff, History, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, PTSD, Smithsonian, Steve and Bucky can be read as platonic or romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 17:19:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6385375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanothernerdgirl/pseuds/justanothernerdgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After HYDRA, Bucky takes some time to adjust. Luckily, he has some friends who really love him to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Didn't Start The Fire

**Author's Note:**

> My Beta is Azaline who can be found at azzylion.tumblr.com
> 
> She is an amazing fanfic writer and I highly recommend checking her out.

They called it PTSD. It stood for Post Traumatic something or other. Basically a fancy way of describing why Bucky feared both soft voices and loud ones, why he no longer let anyone touch him, except for Steve. His memories were coming back, one nightmare at a time. 

At first, Bucky assumed Steve was trying to brainwash him like they had. It made sense, after all. Bucky would wake up from a nightmare in a comfortable, yet isolated unit shaking, yelling, and throwing things until Steve would come in. He would wear a face like a soldier’s, yet Bucky could see the pain behind Steve's eyes. It was the same when Sarah had died. He would calm Bucky down with orders to sit, breathe, and remember that he was safe now. Bucky would spit something cruel back at him, ask him why if he was so goddamn safe, they wouldn’t let him leave. With that question, he would watch Steve’s eyes close, masking the guilt that Bucky had an instinctual response to soothe. Why should he, though? He was being kept like an animal, like a pet. He could barely remember when he was anything but that. 

And yet, after everything was calm, Steve would sit next to Bucky, close enough for Bucky to strangle him if he wanted. It was a show of complete trust—and complete idiocy. He would ask Bucky softly, “Can I tell you a story?” and Bucky would nod. He hated it when people yelled, because it reminded him of war, but he feared when people spoke softly, because it was the same placating tone they had used before wiping his memories and locking him in his cage. 

But Bucky let it go on. Maybe that was the worst part: feeling like he was condoning whatever games they were playing with him, wanting to accept that this really was the path to salvation. He wanted to believe something like that could even exist anymore. 

Steve worked backwards, first describing their time in the army, then their double dates, eventually progressing to their childhood. Bucky began to remember, not everything of course, but the smell of Sarah’s cooking and the constant need to protect Steve, this scrappy kid from Brooklyn who couldn’t stay out of a fight. 

Once or twice, Bucky asked questions. How did Steve become so much bigger? Was it anything like the process they had put Bucky through? It wasn’t. Did the girls like him? Did Bucky leave behind a sweetheart when he disappeared? Yes, and no. Did Steve ever try to find him? Every fucking day until they forced him to give up.

The words circled Bucky’s head. They didn’t entirely make sense, not really. It felt like a different time, an unreachable past. And Steve’s loyalty? It seemed too good to be true at best, a manipulative lie at worst. Eventually, he figured it was somewhere in the middle: just plain stupid, but sweet, and probably mirrored in his own heart, somewhere below the fight that seemed to be raging inside of him constantly. Fighting yourself is worse than fighting anyone else. At least in war, Bucky could mend the scars, protect them until healed. These wounds, it seemed, would remain open forever.

After what seemed like months, Steve finally came in with the best offer Bucky had heard in decades; he wanted to take Bucky for a walk around their old haunts, see if it triggered more memories. Bucky would be allowed to wander anywhere, as long as Steve was with him. He would still be on a leash but he would be comparatively free. There was, admittedly, a part of Bucky that was planning on escaping. There was also a part of him that wasn’t sure he wanted to escape at all. He was decades out of his time and who could ever love him now, with a metal arm and a cold heart to match? 

Best to stay with Steve. Steve brought him his favorite foods, even the ones Bucky couldn’t remember ever having tried. Steve never hit him, unless Bucky threw the first punch. He didn’t trust anyone he had been introduced to, so far. He felt he could trust Steve, though. There was a small, insistent voice in Bucky that knew Steve and loved him. He couldn’t silence it, so he figured he might as well listen. He accepted Steve’s offer gratefully, even if it was with a biting, “about time”. 

So much had changed from before when they drove to visit their old neighborhood. But the alleyways remained, and Bucky had some joy in reminding Steve of that. 

“Hey! You got beat up in that alley. And that one. And that one,” Bucky teased. 

“Yeah, thanks, Buck.” Steve grunted, but a smile betrayed him. 

Coney Island, too, had transformed, but Bucky still found the roller coaster that had made Steve sick all those years ago and narrowed his eyes in a challenge. Steve elbowed him in response before widening his eyes in horror at the realization of what he had done. Bucky just laughed, gripping the back of Steve’s neck and leading him onto the ride. It felt like old times, like the Winter Soldier had never happened, even with the anxiety thrumming in the back of his head as a reminder. 

There were many more outings after that. Steve found Bucky couldn’t handle traffic jams, long lines, or elevator rides easily. As he gained freedom, he tolerated the feeling of being trapped less and less. Eventually, Steve convinced SHIELD to stop following them. When he announced he had to move to DC to be closer to base, Bucky insisted on coming with him. Though New York was his home, there was nothing left for him there without Steve. 

The adjustment to DC was slow for them both. He and Bucky would wake up every morning and go for runs. Sometimes a man named Sam would join them, falling behind almost immediately, but he was good for coffee or a beer afterwards. The thrumming became quieter. It was always there, but as time went on, he found himself able to wrestle Sam playfully instead of feeling attacked, ruffling his hair even as Sam would push against the “unfairly advantaged” arm restraining him. Steve would just stand there and laugh, and Bucky thought it was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. 

In the evenings, they’d cook or find new places around town to eat. Steve would usually don a baseball cap for the occasion, which Bucky found hilarious to no end since Steve still hated sports. When Steve was out working, Bucky would get restless. They fought, and Steve eventually conceded that with Bucky’s recent progress, he should be allowed out on his own.

“Just don’t disappear on me, okay, Buck?” Steve tried for joking, but his tone fell flat, edged with hurt and fear. Bucky nodded. 

“I’ll try not to kill anyone on the way to the supermarket,” Bucky said, bitterly. Steve just sighed, picked up his book, and went to bed. 

The next day, Steve left Bucky a key to the apartment and a map of the city before he left for work. He realized Bucky didn’t have a cellphone, but he left his number on the map anyway, hoping it wouldn’t be needed. 

Bucky explored. The feeling was glorious. There were no appointments to keep, no one expecting anything of him. He toured the monuments and the parks. He stepped into bookstores, finding things that he thought Steve would like. At the end of his day of freedom, Bucky picked up Chinese takeaway from their favorite place, somehow still needing to make Steve happy despite his newfound independence. 

Behind him in line, a mother talked on her cellphone loudly. Bucky squeezed his fists, trying to adjust to the noise rather than losing his temper. 

“Yes, dear, we’ll be home soon,” the woman said into the phone. Bucky wasn’t sure how loudly one needed to talk into a cellphone to be able to get the message across, but surely that was a little unnecessary? After all, Steve kept telling him they were in the twenty-first century now. “yes, I took her to the Captain America exhibit today. She loved it. It’s down the road from the one with the coral reef. Yes. Yes. Alright, honey, talk to you soon. Bye.” 

The woman hung up her phone, although one event seemed to trigger another as the little girl holding her hand whined and pulled her mother, trying to wrest any attention she could get from her clearly exhausted parent. Bucky felt a little vindicated that she wasn’t able to get any peace and quiet either. Her words had sunk into Bucky’s mind, though. Captain America exhibit? Sure, they’d made history, but Bucky had assumed most of that had been classified. Suddenly, he realized how much history he really didn’t know. Yeah, he’d been a part of a lot of it, but were there any actual wars after World War II, or just a series of battles? Who exactly had he assassinated? How many presidents had come and gone in office? What were the twin towers he had kept hearing mentioned in New York and where had they gone?

 

Bucky received his order, paid with the money SHIELD had given him for clothes and emergencies (yes, food was an emergency), and made his way slowly back to the apartment. He walked in to find Steve in the living room on the phone with someone. When he turned and saw Bucky, his whole body sagged in relief. 

“Hey Buck,” he said, ending his phone call, “I-I thought…” 

“I brought home Chinese,” Bucky offered, cutting him off. He knew what Steve had thought. The trust between them was still being built. To be fair, if Steve had come home long after he was due, Bucky may have thought the same. 

“Thanks,” Steve smiled. “What’d you get up to today?” 

Bucky relayed his story of discovering D.C., walking the length of the city and back, taking cabs when he was lost or it started to get late. Steve nodded throughout his story, offering a question here and there, but mostly just listening to the narrative with interest. A year ago, he never would have believed they could achieve this normality. Now, despite Steve’s lingering fear and Bucky’s occasional nightmares, their routine was starting to feel domestic. 

“Steve?” Bucky looked at his friend, “Why do they have a museum exhibit about you?” 

“Oh, um, yeah, it’s in the Smithsonian. It’s gotten quite a bit larger since our day. I’ve only been there once to, uh, borrow a uniform. You’re there, too, you know. If you ever wanted to see it, we could…” Steve trailed off, a faint blush coloring his skin. 

“So what’s this exhibit about? Does it feature your art or something? Steve Rogers: Taking on Hitler with His Fists and His Paintbrush?” Bucky mocked him, “Captain America: Boxers or Briefs?” 

“Oh knock it off, will you? It’s the Howling Commandos and shit like that. I guess I was America’s First Avenger or something and they decided to put your ugly mug up there next to mine.” 

“I’m surprised a lot of that stuff isn’t classified.” 

“It was for a long time. But it’s been seventy years. Most of that intel isn’t relevant anymore and the stuff that is, well, isn’t there.”

“How many lives for information that lasted less than 100 years?” Bucky frowned, playing with the rice on his plate.

“Hey, we did good. You, especially, Bucky. You were –“

“Yeah, yeah. So when are we going to see this infamous exhibit about America’s favorite punching bag?” Bucky cut him off, feeling uncomfortable remembering those days. All the things he’d done since then… He was hardly the hero Steve made him out to be. 

“Tomorrow, okay? Work’s driving me crazy, anyway. I’m still not sure I belong there.” 

“Thinking about going back to art school, Stevie?” 

“Nah. If artists were unemployable back then, they’re completely homeless now. I don’t really know what makes me happy anymore. I got into this to make a difference and yet there are still thousands being relocated after Sokovia. Doctor Banner’s been helping out with that. He’s a good man.” Steve refused to meet Bucky’s eyes.

“So are you, Steve.” Bucky reassured him quietly. He felt surer of that fact than of anything in a long time. 

“I’m going to hit the hay. Thanks for bringing home dinner.” Steve put his dishes in the sink and moved to leave the room. Bucky didn’t know why but he felt like Steve’s sadness was his fault. He needed to fix it.

“Hey, wait! There are some books for you on the counter. I picked them up while I was out today.” 

Steve paused and turned, his eyes a bit lighter now. He looked ten years younger as he flipped through them excitedly. After seventy years apart, Bucky still knew him better than anyone. 

“Thanks, Buck!” He walked over, books in arm, and squeezed Bucky’s shoulder with his free hand. “I’m really glad you’re here.” 

Bucky wasn’t sure if he meant in the apartment or the twenty first century, but Bucky smiled and nodded, before watching Steve leave the room with a bounce in his step.

The next day, they woke up early and went on their run, inviting Sam along to the museum with them. Bucky wanted to know everything he had missed and Steve admitted that he was having trouble getting caught up. Sam gave them the run down of presidents: Eisenhower, Kennedy (Bucky didn’t think he had anything to do with that one but he wasn’t entirely sure), Johnson, Nixon (Steve was very uncomfortable with a corrupt president), Ford, Carter, Reagan (who Sam insisted was worse than Nixon even without a famous scandal attached to his name), Bush, Clinton, Bush (“Same person?” “His son”), and, finally, Obama. 

“Steve’s met him a couple times I think”, Sam told Bucky. 

“He tried to teach me basketball. He’s a good man. Better shot than I am,” Steve offered in explanation. The President had asked to meet him after he was defrosted. They’d become friends to some extent. He was going to be sad to see the President step down.

“That’s not hard, Steve,” Bucky rolled his eyes, remembering their childhood all too well. “It’s good to know the current Commander-in-Chief isn’t a complete idiot.” 

“Bucky!” Steve scolded. Bucky stuck out his tongue and Steve gave him a push. 

On their walk, Sam explained 9/11. He tried to explain the war on terror the best he could, but it was messy, and ranged from Africa to Asia to the Middle East. He admitted that it was hard to tell who the good guys were for him, too, sometimes. Somehow, that didn’t reassure any of the men. 

The Museum was a large grey building. It looked as intimidating as it felt. Steve glanced at Bucky.

“You ready for this?” He asked. Bucky gave one curt nod, his jaw clenched as if he were preparing for a mission. 

Sam led them to their exhibit. It was darkly lit. There were pictures everywhere of their team, men who had long since passed away. Bucky trembled slightly, overwhelmed, and Steve gripped his arm to support the both of them. 

Their uniforms were lined up on mannequins; Steve had returned his after the last mission with an apology and an assortment of signed paraphernalia for the museum to sell to make up for any damages to museum reputation. There were videos of him and Bucky. Steve wrapped an arm around Bucky’s shoulder while they watched their younger selves. They were so innocent. Bucky’s hair was shorter; Steve’s smile was brighter. They were going to win the war together. Now Steve’s hand rested where Bucky’s metal arm begun, covered by a thin sweater. They were older. They hurt so much more. 

“Come on, guys,” Sam broke them out of their trance, shepherding them quickly through the rest of the exhibit (the war, Red Skull, the disappearance of Captain America, his reemergence, the Avengers) and bringing them back into the rotunda. There was so much more for them to see. 

“Still don’t know why I wasn’t in that exhibit. I’m an Avenger now, too” Sam mumbled for Steve’s benefit. Steve snorted and the tension broke. 

“Yeah? Try getting trapped in ice for a couple decades and then maybe they’ll give you a nice shirt.” Steve replied, without any real heat. It was nice to see the exhibit and all that they had done. Neither himself nor Bucky had been around for VE day, but seeing the pictures, it was as if they themselves were hearing the news for the first time. Still, it brought up memories of everything they had lost. 

It seemed as if the day went by in the blink of an eye. They found a Frank Sinatra exhibit. He had been popular with the bobby soxers in their day. His songs were used for wooing a woman with a dance. It was strange now that people would consider him an idol. 

Steve and Bucky were overwhelmed at how things had changed. Sure, the streets and technology were vastly different, but they had lived in the aftermath of Tesla and Edison and in the golden days of Einstein. New technology hardly fazed them. They flitted from history exhibit to history exhibit, taking in the names of celebrities born long after them but now old or dead. That was the strangest.

Once in a while Sam would pause and explain something: I Love Lucy, Rock n’ Roll (Bucky liked Elvis’ hair a lot), the Cold War, the polio vaccine, Grace Kelly (Steve may have formed a bit of a crush on her, not that Bucky needed to know that), Barbie, GI Joe (which made Steve feel a bit better about his own action figures), Cuba, the Beatles (Bucky definitely did not start dancing a little when Sam played him a song. Sam did not film it and send it to Natasha. Absolutely not.), Martin Luther King, Jr. (Steve bought a book on him), Disney (“But why a mouse?” Steve had asked, confused and a little frightened for this generation. “That could be your next job, Stevie! You could draw that.” “Yeah…I don’t think so.”), Gandhi, Chernobyl, Margaret Thatcher, the Berlin Wall, Jaws (if Bucky hit Sam when he tried to do an impersonation of the shark that was his own fault), The Camp David Accords, Michael Jackson, Nelson Mandela, Princess Diana…

There was so much. 

Eventually, Steve noticed Bucky start to fade. He would never admit it, he was conditioned not to, but he was tired. 

“Hey, Sam? I think we’ve had enough for today,” Steve told his friend, softly. 

“Wait. I’m not done with you yet. There are nineteen Smithsonian museums you know.” 

“Sam…”

“What? Is the old man having trouble keeping up? Don’t worry, man. I just want to show you one more thing while we’re still in the National Mall. Then I’ll let you guys go for the day.” 

Sam led them to the Natural History Museum. It was grandiose at best and Sam might have taken a few pictures of Steve and Bucky with their mouths agape. He led them to a hallway lined with fish of every color. When they walked in, Bucky’s eyes widened and he pressed his face against the glass. Museums hadn’t been quite as advanced in the 1940s and honestly there hadn’t been much time or money to go to them. There were stories of places like this in the paper opening in London when Steve’s mother was a girl, but she hadn’t been either. She was too busy working to find Steve a better life in America. Bucky’s mother also worked too much, especially after his father passed away. 

Sam watched Steve and Bucky walk around with a smug grin on his face. Those two had seen and been through so much, and yet something so common to his childhood could still amaze them. 

Later that night, long after Steve and Bucky said goodbye and they had ordered pizza for dinner, Steve lay in bed with a thousand new books. Bucky knocked on his door and entered, his hair wet from his shower, leaving water marks on his loose grey shirt. 

“Hey Stevie? Can I come in?” He asked, uncertainly. 

“Of course, Bucky. Come sit.” Steve motioned to an empty space on the bed, pushing some of the texts out of the way. 

“Tell me the story of what happened after I fell. How did you get iced?”

Steve told him everything. Falling for Peggy, working with Howard, how much Tony still reminded him of his father….

“It was insane, Bucky. Seriously. One minute we were driving at a thousand miles an hour and the next minute I’m on an enemy’s plane and we’re fighting and then…I just remember thinking I have no choice, I’ve got to crash this thing. I don’t remember anything after that.” 

Bucky, who had remained calm throughout the entire story, listening with silent interest, finally spoke, his face twisting into pure rage.

“You idiot!” Bucky grabbed a pillow, hitting Steve repeatedly. “You could have died! You didn’t even give that Agent a chance to give you a second option! And you jumped into an enemy plane without backup! Jesus, Steve, I know that Captain America uniform is sparkly but has it completely gone to your head? I’ll kill you. You ever do something like that again, and I swear to god, Steve, I’ll kill you.” 

Steve just laughed. “A little hypocritical, Buck, don’t you think?” At seeing his serious expression, however, Steve’s laughter died down. “Don’t worry, alright? From now on, it’s you and me. We’ll take care of each other.” 

“Promise?” 

“Promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Feel free to leave comments and/or kudos!


End file.
